


Massage Therapy

by thewightknight



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Assassination Attempt(s), Canon Compliant, Force Visions, Identity Porn, M/M, Porn With Plot, WIP Big Bang 2017, pre tfa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 14:17:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11419737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewightknight/pseuds/thewightknight
Summary: Armitage Hux always made the best of his annual physical/mental examination. It was almost a vacation every year. The thing he looked forward to the most every year was a visit to a local parlor. Every year, everything was always the same, and that's how he liked it. But this year, things did not go according to plan.





	Massage Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> Identity porn is always a "warning!" situation for me, because there's always a touch of dubcon to it.
> 
> This finally finished thanks to the [WIP Big Bang](http://wipbigbang.livejournal.com/), and [illustrated by the fabulous badbastion](http://badbastion.livejournal.com/142964.html).

Command’s paranoia complicated Hux’s life in so many ways. His least favorite of these was the annual check-in at central headquarters. They called it a check-up, but he knew better. His presence planetside served no purpose whatsoever. The  _ Finalizer _ had a state of the art medbay and the battery of psychological tests were nothing he couldn’t have thrown in his favor in his sleep, even in person, if he’d had anything to hide. These check-ups only existed to remind him of his place, as a cog in their machine.

He had two reasons why he didn’t weasel out of them each year. Firstly, he could visit his mother – his real mother, not his father’s wife – and without his father’s scornful presence. Secondly, he could schedule a session at a certain establishment that specialized in … relaxation activities. He never availed himself of the more scandalous services they offered but they had the best masseuses, and he’d decided long ago he deserved such a treat as a reward for putting up with everything else.

Every year he grumbled and complained all the way up until the ramp closed behind him on the shuttle when in actuality he enjoyed the respite, as close to a vacation as he ever got most years.

He knew before the doctor began reading his results back to him what the report would be: elevated stress levels, indications that his sleeping habits were poor, a slight weight gain and a corresponding slight loss of muscle tone. His vitamin levels were at acceptable levels, which they better damn well be since he never missed taking his supplements. He answered the questions the doctor threw at him by rote, as they’d never varied once in all the years he’d sat through these appointments. Or they hadn’t, up until this point.

“And how’s the sex life, then?”

Hux blinked, not quite believing what he’d heard. “Excuse me?”

“How many partners have you had in the last year? How often are you masturbating?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“Well, General, with the strain of your current appointment, and comparing these results to last year’s, I’d highly recommend that you entertain the thought of indulging in some, how shall I put it? Extra-curricular activities in between your annual visits. Once a year at everyone’s favorite parlor isn’t really enough.”

Hux’s eyebrows shot up at that. He shouldn’t be surprised that his tradition had somehow made it into his file. Command had eyes and ears everywhere. It heartened him to ascertain that the parlor’s vaunted privacy practices were as strict as they claimed, since the doctor didn’t seem to know any of the particulars of his visits there.

“Am I to understand that you are prescribing ... sex?”

The doctor chuckled. “Well, I wouldn’t have put it exactly in those terms, but yes, that is an accurate statement.”

The whole business left Hux unsettled, disrupting this long-established routine and prying into such distinctly personal matters.  And it only got worse. When the transport dropped him off at the gates to the small estate the senior Hux maintained for his mother, she rushed out to meet him. As she pulled him down for a kiss on the cheek, she murmured in his ear, “I’m sorry, love!”

He didn’t need to ask the reason for her apology. When he straightened he saw his father staring out at them through the front window. Luckily, he’d scheduled this visit after the medical check-up. Who knows what his stress levels would have looked like if the two had been reversed?

The next disappointment came when he discovered the cantina next to his regular lodgings no longer stocked his favorite whiskey. He judged the variety now offered in its place as sub-par, and ended up only having one glass instead of his planned two or three, retiring to his rooms early, still put off from his father’s unexpected presence.

It took him forever to settle down and drift off into sleep and then something set off the fire alarm in the early hours of the morning. They had it sorted in no time, even before he’d made it to the stairs, but with the shot of adrenaline to his system he knew he’d never get back to sleep. He tried to work it out on the treadmill in the basement gym but that only added a different brand of tired. Drinking almost an entire pot of caf over breakfast didn’t help. Instead it made him jittery in between yawns.

At least there wouldn’t be any surprises today. The parlor had no official name. You only found out about its existence through word of mouth, and needed a recommendation to be considered as a client. Nothing on the street belied the impression of anything other than a series of upscale residences. An unmarked door led to a series of chambers at the entrance and a multitude of private elevators, coded to take you to your assigned suite, preserving the anonymity of their clients, and their soundproofed rooms and extensive list of services made them attractive to a wide variety of customers.

Hux had considered changing his appointment after his visit with the doctor the day before, but in the end left it as is. He’d had enough variance to his routine already for this visit and besides, he’d want more than a few hours to review their list and make his selections before pursuing this route.

The décor of each room varied slightly, mainly in the color scheme, but he always found the hook for his jacket in the same place, with the robe on the hook next to it warmed prior to his arrival. Stripping, he folded his clothes and placed them on the stand beneath the hooks, draped the sinfully soft robe across his shoulders and settled himself on the massage table, face nestled in the scented pillow, arms loose at his sides.

He’d started to wonder if he’d been forgotten (and wouldn’t that be the perfect capper for this miserable week?) when he heard the door open.

“Ah, Helton. I was beginning to feel neglected.”

A throat cleared behind him. “I’m sorry, General, but Helton is indisposed today. I’ll be taking care of you this afternoon.”

Well, wasn’t that bloody grand. Nothing about this whole bloody week seemed to want to go to plan. He might as well cancel and leave. In fact, yes, that’s what he’d do.

“Well, in that case, I'll ….” He’d levered himself up off the table but when he saw Helton’s replacement he managed to forget what he’d been trying to say. They must not stock anything in his size, Hux thought, dazed. The parlor’s standard not-quite-uniform, white shirt and black pants, strained across his broad shoulders and the pants ended well above his ankle bone. It looked like he’d burst out of his shirt if he took a full breath and the pants molded to him like a second skin. Hux realized he’d been staring and forced his gaze upwards to the man’s face, losing himself again as he met a pair of warm brown eyes framed by wisps of wavy black hair. He found himself wondering what that hair would look like if he freed it from the messy bun that held it.

“Um, I’m … I’m … Wex. Sir. Management asked me to apologize for not notifying you.” Holy hells, those lips were obscene. “Helton thought he’d be able to meet with you, but it turns out he underestimated the state of his … er, I mean.” The man blushed. “He, well, strained something at an earlier appointment.”

Blinking in surprise, Hux tried to gather his wits and find his voice. He’d never imagined Helton might perform some of the more exotic services the parlor offered.

“Is it all right, sir? I mean, can I …?” Wex trailed off again and Hux found himself still staring. Oh, yes. Words. He needed to use his words.

“Yes, quite all right.” He managed to sound almost his usual self, there. Good job, Hux.

Wex’s knuckles brushed against Hux’s skin as he slid the robe down from Hux’s arms and Hux managed to keep himself from twitching. After Wex turned to hang the robe up, Hux realized he hadn’t pulled out a towel first. At least he’d positioned himself lying face-down. Wex realized his mistake when he turned back and got an eyeful of Hux’s naked arse, and oh did he look adorable when he blushed.

“I’m sorry about that. Here, let me …” He started rummaging around in the drawers under the massage table. “I’m sorry,” he apologized again. “I’m not quite sure where Helton keeps everything in here.” As he knelt to reach the bottom drawer Hux heard the distinctive sound of a seam ripping.

It took every ounce of control not to laugh at the look that crossed Wex’s face. “Was that the shirt or the pants?” he deadpanned.

“Um, shirt. I think. I hope?” Wex twisted, turning to look at his shoulder. “Shirt,” he pronounced, relief clear in his voice. “Would you mind if I took this off? We had a mix-up with the laundry and I had to borrow someone else’s. It’s been kind of a day.”

“You have my sympathies, and no I don’t … mind.” Muscles. Muscles everywhere. Hux temporarily lost his words again. Luckily Wex didn’t seem to be paying attention, letting the garment fall to the floor as he returned to rummaging around in the drawers. By the time he stood, towel in one hand and flask of oil in the other, Hux had managed to pull himself back together, and then he had to bite back a giggle as Wex nearly spilled the oil when he tried to unfold the towel one-handed. As much as he was enjoying the show, though, he decided he’d like to actually get the massage he’d been looking forward to, so he pointed Wex towards the stand next to the head of the table.

When he cracked open the bottle, Hux wrinkled his nose. “That’s not the oil Helton normally uses.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t see any note in the file about this. I can check, if you like?”

Helton had never used a scented oil before. A hint of citrus reached him, with something earthy underneath, and a touch of sweetness at the finish. Not unpleasant, he decided, and after all, he’d shot his routine all to hell already. Why concern himself over one more thing at this point?

“No, never mind.”

The oil had been warmed to body temperature and as Wex smoothed it up and down Hux’s back and across his shoulders the scent tickled at his nose. Maybe it was a little more than not unpleasant, he thought as he melted into Wex’s fingers.

“You’re very tense, sir.” Fingers began to work at the knot at the base of his skull. Hux made a wordless noise in agreement, already feeling himself begin to relax under Wex’s skillful touch.

“How long has it been since your last massage, sir?”

“Last year, here.”

The hand paused for a second, and then continued.  Another hand began working at the column of his neck. His skin warmed at the touch, tingling pleasantly.

“Aren’t there services available to you throughout the year, sir?”

“There are, yes, but I find it hard to work it into my schedule.”

“Surely you can find an hour here and there, sir? Forgive me for being so bold, but I believe more regular massages would do you a world of good.”

Hux could have done so, and easily, but the  _ Finalizer _ only had droids available for such services and their impersonal attentions never truly relaxed him. He could never bring himself to admit that he craved a human touch, or at least not out loud.

“I’m afraid my schedule is a bit hectic. Clearing it even for this annual visit is usually a nightmare.”

“Well, then, let’s make this count, sir.”

Wex proved to be adept at massage, perhaps even more than Helton, although thinking that felt disloyal. It seemed like magic, though, how he found every knot and how he applied the right amount of pressure to each of them and Hux found himself sinking into the cushions as the tension drained out of him. At the same time, though, while his muscles relaxed, his nerve endings began to react in a different fashion, electrified and stimulated by the simple touches, and when Wex’s fingers dug into the small of his back Hux discovered that while most of his body had gone limp under Wex’s attentions, one particular part had the opposite reaction. As his hands pushed the towel down Hux stiffened and Wex froze when he felt Hux’s reaction.

“I’m sorry, sir. Is this all right? Do you normally skip the gluteal muscles?”

He hadn’t removed his hands, just halted their motion downwards, and Hux realized for the first time how large they were compared to his frame. It felt like one of them would span his lower back, and the both of them completely enveloped his hips. The warmth from those hands went straight to his groin and it took an effort not to squirm beneath them.

“No, it’s fine,” he managed to get out without sounding strained, but he cursed his brain internally as it insisted on painting him vivid images of other things those hands could be doing. He tried to force himself to relax as Wex continued. Focusing on his breathing helped a bit, but not enough.

He managed some measure of control as Wex worked further down his legs, but when one hand wrapped most of the way around his calf it sent another surge through him.  It took everything he had to remain still as Wex worked his way down and then trailed his fingers back up, leaving tingling trails along the back of his thighs.

“If you could turn over, sir?”

Hux could feel the blush spread across his body as he shifted. He didn’t look down as Wex lifted the towel to hold it in place while he shifted positions. He didn’t need to. His embarrassment hadn’t diminishing the enthusiasm of his nether parts in the slightest, and he didn’t need to see how he’d tented the towel, or how his skin reddened with embarrassment. Instead he clenched his eyes shut, trying not to tense up again.

Thankfully Wex didn’t comment as he began smoothing oil along Hux’s shoulders. He had to be used to it, Hux decided. Who wouldn’t have this kind of reaction to him, after all? Well, a dead person perhaps, or someone with no sex drive whatsoever, or no interest in men at all. His breath caught despite his best efforts as hands slid up his arms, and when Wex coaxed them up above his head he felt himself arch up off the table in response.

“I know you don’t usually take advantage of our, well, full range of services, sir, but maybe this time you’d be interested in something a little more ... personal?” As he spoke, he laced his fingers through Hux’s, pressing his hands down into the mat.

“Sir?” Wex asked, voice low, breathy, and Hux realized he still had his eyes closed. Opening them, he found Wex’s face only inches from his own. His eyes met Hux’s, flickered down for an instant to his lips, then back up again. “May I, sir?” A lock of his hair had come loose, falling across his forehead, and Hux itched to reach up and smooth it back as he nodded, not trusting his voice.

It started as the barest brush of lips against his, then another, a little longer, a little less hesitant. When Wex started to pull back Hux chased after him, impatient for more. Wex made a surprised, pleased noise when Hux nipped and sucked at his lower lip and abandoned his tentativeness, throwing himself into their kiss with enthusiasm. When Hux freed his hands he began to protest, but when Hux buried them in his hair, freeing it from its restraints and using it to draw him in closer, it turned into a hum of approval.

There was something so artless, sincere, about Wex’s kisses. Hux could almost imagine this as a romantic encounter instead of services rendered. He’d pretend it was, he decided. Here, he could allow himself to let go as he wouldn’t if this were a real tryst. There would be no worry about making himself vulnerable in front of someone, giving them any possible hold over him, as they’d never interact again outside of this room. He could submit, lose himself in this and feel no shame for it. He tried to telegraph all of this in his kiss, in the touch of his hands, and it seemed he succeeded because Wex started to crawl up on the table with him. They both froze at the sound of tearing cloth.

“Well, since you’ve already lost the shirt that leaves only one thing that could have been.” Wex swore under his breath and Hux couldn’t hold in his laughter. “They’re going to have to come off anyways, yes?”

In almost comical haste, Wex stood, practically tearing off the offending garment before pressing himself against Hux, and while he mourned the lost opportunity to stare at Wex’s impressive physique he didn’t want to give up an inch of skin pressed against his. Every point of contact shot little bolts of pleasure through him and when the towel fell away and he felt the silken glide of another cock against his for the first time in years, almost overwhelming him with the sensation.

He must have stiffened again, or made some sound, because Wex froze above him.

“Are you all right, sir?”

Something about the way he said “sir” this time sent flickers of electricity up and down Hux’s spine.

“Never better. But it’s been …” He couldn’t say “years” to this gorgeous man. He finished with a lame “… a very long time.”

“A lot to make up for, then?” That grin would be the death of him. Instead of answering, he tugged at Wex’s hair, drawing him down for another kiss. Here, too, he seemed to know exactly what Hux liked, delicate flicks with his tongue, nips at his bottom lip and along his jaw, the graze of teeth on his earlobe and the sensitive spot beneath. At the same time fingers found his nipple, rolling it and pinching, riding that fine line between pleasure and pain, sending bolts of electricity through Hux.

“Tell me your desires, sir. Tell me what you want.” Wex’s voice trembled, barely above a whisper in Hux’s ear. “Anything you want. I’m yours.”

Hux nearly came from that alone, those words spoken in Wex’s husky timbre. “Those are dangerous words,” he gasped, still reeling from the shock of skin against his.

“Yours,” Wex repeated. “What would you have me do?”

Losing himself in those eyes Hux let them go, all the words he’d ever wanted to speak and had never dared in any of his casual encounters.

“I want you inside of me. I want to ride you until my thighs burn. I want you to mark me, and spend inside of me. I want to remember you for days afterwards. I want you to make me yours.”

He’d let his eyes drift closed as he talked, afraid his nerve would desert him, but he felt the shudder that ran through Wex, telegraphed through the points where their bodies touched, and heard his sharp intake of breath.

“I can do that.”

The brush of lips surprised him, but he murmured encouragement as Wex hesitated, moaning as they followed the curve of his neck, as they meandered downwards, settling just above the shoulder. Wex took him at his word, sucking and biting into his skin, right where the collar of his uniform would press into it, and he knew he'd be livid there for days.

Not content, Wex continued his downward path, tongue darting out, flicking across Hux's nipple before he sucked it into his mouth, working at it until Hux cried out, half in pleasure, half in protest. "Too much, sir?" It almost was, but he didn't want it to stop.  Wex didn't wait for his response, laving Hux with his tongue, swirling across and around his nipple, then rolling it in between his lips. He teased the other one with his fingers, pinching it to hardness, working in rhythm with his mouth. "Are you ticklish?"

"I have no idea," he had to admit.

"Hmmm." Trailing kisses and licks along Hux's side, Wex hummed again, vibrations rippling along Hux's skin. "It seems not." He sucked another mark into Hux’s skin above Hux's hipbone. His hair teased against Hux's cock, cool and silken and gone too soon as he transferred his attentions to the inside of Hux's thigh, leaving a line of bruises in his wake.

Every touch ran the line between perfection and excess. Heartbeat racing and breath coming in short gasps, Hux moaned at the first touch of lips at the base of his cock, anticipation of everything yet to come almost his undoing. Wex licked a teasing trail upwards, exploring the shape of him, swirling around the sensitive rim and delving into the slit.

As before, Wex seemed to sense the exact moment when Hux neared his limit and backed off again, leaving him teetering on the edge, every nerve ending afire.

“Easy now. I’ve got you.”

Hands soothed instead of excited and lips bestowed gentle kisses until his heart rate slowed, tracing up along the curve of his ribs, back down his sternum, along his hips to his knees and back up again. Somewhere along the way, the touches changed, as Wex rediscovered what he’d explored previously, touching them all in new ways. With the same eerie skill he’d shown at massage, Wex found each and every place on Hux’s body where his nerves sang at the touch of lips and fingers and hands. Hux gave up trying to hold in his reactions, moaning and gasping without shame as Wex brought him back to the brink of orgasm and held him there, waves of pleasure washing through him but never quite cresting.

“Going to make you ready for me now.”

“Ready? What was all this then?”

“Foreplay.”

“You're going to be the death of me,” Hux said, only half joking.

“Never!” For the first time Wex misjudged, hands digging into Hux’s hips hard enough to bruise. His hiss of pain had barely passed his lips when apologies were kissed into his skin. “Never,” Wex repeated. This time it sounded almost like a prayer.

He stretched Hux open with the same tortuous care he showed in everything else, seeming to reach through him, setting him on fire from the inside out.  Fingers interlaced, he laid back, drawing Hux on top of him, murmuring encouragements as Hux settled onto him, inch by inch. He didn't let go through Hux’s first tentative movements, allowing Hux to push against him, murmuring encouragements.

“So beautiful.”

“Careful. If you keep saying things like that I might fall in love with you.” Hux meant to say the words in jest, and failed again, even more emotion bleeding through his words as those eyes drank him in.

“I could be that lucky.”

Again, he found himself almost believing Wex. A part of him wanted to, so strongly it scared him. What was happening to him?

All his worries were driven out of his head as Wex shifted beneath him, a roll of his hips that tore a moan from him, almost overcome again by the feeling of exquisite fullness.

“Move for me?” Untwining their fingers, Wex wrapped his hands around Hux’s hips, triggering another flood of pleasure as he rocked up into Hux.

“That’s it. Like that. Perfect.” Hearing the tremble in Wex’s voice, watching the flutter of his eyelashes, Hux rose and fell, drinking in every breathy gasp and moan. Wex thrust up into him, matching his rhythm at first but Hux couldn’t keep it up for long, his movements growing wilder and more erratic as his thighs began to protest the unaccustomed movement. Just as he felt his legs giving out altogether, Wex surged forward, pressing him back onto the table. One arm braced on the pad, supporting his weight. The other slid along his side and up his arm, pinning his wrist down.

“Mine.” Wex whispered as he thrust, the rough slide of him wringing whimpers out of Hux, and Hux didn't have the breath or will to protest, even if he'd wanted to. He had asked for this, hadn’t he?

Another shift and Wex’s hand slid beneath him, to the small of his back, lifting his hips to meet Wex’s thrusts. Hux cried out as Wex drove into him, each stroke grazing against his prostate now.

“There you are. Let me hear you.”

Having kept him on the brink of orgasm for so long, Wex held back no longer, pulling Hux closer, burying his face in the curve of Hux’s neck, trapping Hux’s cock between them. Every touch set his skin on fire. Every thrust sent electric shocks up his spine and down through his toes.

“I want to see you fly apart. Come for me.”

Wex’s release followed immediately after his, both of them carried away on the waves of the other’s pleasure. Panting, murmuring indecipherable nothings into Hux’s skin Wex withdrew almost completely and thrust in one more time, collapsing on top of Hux with one last wordless cry.

Before his weight became too much Wex propped himself up on his elbows, smiling at Hux, disheveled hair falling around his face as he kissed on Hux’s forehead.

“Don’t move. I’ll get something to clean us up.”

“As if I could.”

A deep lassitude had already begun to overtake him in the short time it took Wex to fetch a warm towel. He noticed a sweet scent to the towel as Wex wiped his face, a scent he almost recognized. Lifting his strangely leaden limbs to clean the sweat and come from his skin, Wex had begun speaking to him in soothing tones, almost too low for Hux to hear.

"You are sleepy now."

He was, yes.

"I am sleepy now."

He sounded disconnected, he noted, more than he could blame on the post-orgasm cloud of endorphins. He knew that should worry him, but couldn’t think why.

“Sleep.”

He felt the brush of fingers across his forehead, followed by a last touch of lips, and that was the last thing he remembered.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Sir? General?”

“I think he’s all right. His pulse is steady.”

Hux flinched as he felt a hand on his forehead, started as a finger pulled back an eyelid and bright light flooded in. He batted at the hand, ineffectual. Why did he feel so weak? Almost drugged, it seemed.

A noise, a beeping, sounded in his ear. It took him too long to identify it as a medical scanner. He should be alarmed, he knew, because he never had this much difficulty waking up, but he hadn’t felt this relaxed for years.

“Look at those bruises,” a voice said, almost familiar, and the sense of activity around him increased.

“Are those …?”

The words trailed off into murmurs he couldn’t make out, and then an arm slid beneath his shoulders, lifting him upright. Something snapped and a few seconds later a sharp scent flooded his nostrils and he gasped, his mind clearing. Helton’s face swam into focus before him, and next the parlor’s manager, whose arms supported him. Both of them wore matched expressions of worry and strain.

“Is something the matter? Where’s Wex?”

“Who, sir?”

Shaking his head, Hux tried to chase away the last remnants of fog clouding his mind.

“Wex.  The man who ….” A sick feeling overcame him at the identical looks of alarm on the faces in front of him.

“I don’t know how it happened. We’ve reviewed our records and have no indication of any unauthorized entry. When we learned of the intrusion and I found Helton, we were afraid you’d ended up like the others. I don’t know what we would have done.”

He couldn’t think about this now, not until he found someplace quiet where he could be alone. Forcing himself to breathe, he forged ahead, needing the distraction.

“What others?”

A series of expression flickered across their faces. This establishment’s reputation relied on its discretion, and he could see their commitment to this warring with a desperation to tell him something.

“I swear to you whatever you tell me will remain between the three of us.”

Helton cleared his throat, and for the first time Hux noticed his disheveled hair and the wrinkles in the shirt he wore, at odds with his normal impeccable facade. He exchanged another pained look with the manager, who shrunk down into herself.

“Sir,” she said. “I’m afraid we have two dead men in the suite next to yours.”

The dead men turned out to be a First Order officer and the companion assigned to him.

“This is Major Alta, General. He’s not a regular, but he has frequented our establishment in the past. He didn’t have a preference listed, but Willis has seen to him on several occasions.”

Still feeling south of normal, Hux leaned against the doorframe. Alta sprawled face down on the room’s massage table, his left arm and leg hanging off the side, neck mottled and bent at an unnatural angle, face a deep purple. Willis sagged against the far wall, where it seemed he’d been flung. A smear of blood on the wall above him suggested his cause of death to be major head trauma.

“How did this happen?”

Feet shuffled and eyes looked anywhere but at him.

“It would seem, General, that someone infiltrated our establishment, murdered the major and our employee, subdued Helton, and then took his place as your attendant.”

If Hux hadn’t already completely locked himself down, hearing it stated with such stark simplicity would have undone him. Squaring his shoulders, he forced the words from his mouth, already dreading what they might bring about.

“Gentlebeings, I know I said this would remain between us, but upon seeing this, I must insist that you contact the authorities.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

What was that saying his father loved?  _ No good deed goes unpunished. _ Staring at the institutional wall across from where he sat, Hux kept his face impassive, but inwardly he grimaced. He'd known he’d be sore afterwards. It had been years since he’d indulged, after all, and things had gotten rather … vigorous. But he’d expected to spend the afternoon soaking in the overlarge tub in his suite and then lounging on a padded sofa with a glass of something to take the edge off. Instead he’d spent hours sitting on a bare metal chair in an interrogation room. No force of will would keep him from limping after this.

He’d undergone a thorough examination, including the probing of a medical droid to “obtain a sample for genetic assay,” under the supervision of three senior medtechs. One would have been sufficient. Their additional presence was his first indication that he’d fallen under suspicion somehow.

The sweet smell he’d noticed on the towel had been identified as a mild soporific. It shouldn’t have been enough to put him out, and the techs murmured among themselves as they pointedly did not look in his direction.

After that, four different people had quizzed him multiple times, singly and in alternating pairs, in excruciating and embarrassing detail about his afternoon, focusing on his time with the presumed assassin over the murder he’d insisted on reporting, and from the looks of it he was about to go through it all again with a fifth.

As the door opened to the small room in which he’d been placed, he didn’t allow himself to shift in the torturous chair, keeping his spine straight and his hands folded as a woman sat across the table from him. She didn’t introduce herself, but none of her predecessors had either. The stripes on her sleeve and the insignia of Internal Affairs above her breast were enough introduction. This one had streaks of grey in her hair and a matronly figure, laugh lines etched around her eyes and she affected an easy manner.

Hux would have rolled his eyes if he allowed himself any expression. Such an obvious ploy. He’d had enough of this, he decided. Before she opened her mouth he started speaking.

“I’m not going to tell you anything different from what I’ve told any of your predecessors. I’ve already described in detail everything that happened. I’ve been completely cooperative and have told the absolute truth, as I’m sure your monitoring has confirmed. And since I’m sure you’ve secured my medical records hours ago, you should have determined that my actions earlier today were, in fact, quite literally what the doctor ordered.”

“You understand, we have to investigate thoroughly, in light of what we’ve uncovered.”

“And what, exactly, might that be? Although I’ve been nothing but forthcoming, you have given me no reason to explain why I am still here.”

She tilted her head to one side, regarding him. “You still insist you have no idea as to the reasons behind Major Alta’s assassination?”

Hux rolled his eyes. “As I have stated the previous eleven times I have been asked, no, I do not have any idea why the major is dead. I’d only met him twice before and we interacted less than a minute during each of those occasions.”

Folding her hands in her lap, she smiled at him. “Well, then, therein lies our problem, because when we accessed his private files and communications we found he’d planned to assassinate you today. You must see, then, how we have a situation here, what with how you, er, well, shall we say, ah, frolicked? Yes, frolicked with his murderer in the room next to his cooling corpse?”

At this, her eyes dropped to the livid bruises visible above the neckline of the shirt they’d given him while they “examined” his uniform. Providing him with these flimsy clothes had been an excuse to try to put him off balance, he knew, make him feel vulnerable while they questioned him. Well, now he knew the reason for his lengthy detainment. Time to end this nonsense.

“I’m sure my strategy scores are still listed in my file?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

“I fail to see what that has to do with the …”

He cut her off. “Don’t continue to insult my intelligence any more than you already have. My scores still stand as the highest marks ever achieved. That being said, I don’t know why you think I’d be stupid enough to be in the same system during the assassination of a potential rival, let alone allow the man who performed such a task for me to fuck me practically on top of the bodies within minutes of completing said assassination. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a shuttle to catch in a few hours and I need to shower and pack before leaving.” An elegant eyebrow shot up at his bluntness but she nodded as she rose.

“Very well, General,” she said, addressing him by his title for the first time since the interrogations began. “Thank you for your cooperation.” A touch of sarcasm colored her words, but it appeared his ordeal had finally ended.

No sooner had she exited than someone appeared to escort him to a refresher, and his uniform, cleaned and pressed, awaited him when he emerged. An unmarked transport returned him to his lodgings and as he gathered his luggage he received an alert confirming his shuttle’s arrival time.  Lingering soreness stayed with him, but he didn't avail himself of any treatment for it.  Let it be a reminder of the danger of dropping his guard.  

As he made his way through the spaceport he thought he saw a flash of broad shoulders and dark hair out of the corner of his eye, teasing at the edges of his vision as he turned. He spun around, then back again as he sensed something over his other shoulder, but found nothing. Deciding the whole affair had him on edge, he settled his greatcoat on his shoulders and continued on to his shuttle.  As he fastened the safety harness he quashed that little part of him that had hoped to catch a glimpse of the nameless assassin one more time.  

_ Anything you want. I’m yours. _

That was a line of thought he had no business pursuing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He returned to the _ Finalizer _ on schedule, and to the blessed news that Kylo Ren had departed for parts unknown shortly after he'd left, with no word on when he'd return. He buried himself in his duties to distract himself, and avoided looking in the mirror that night after he showered. The sting of water on his skin in certain places was reminder enough, and memories of warm eyes and hot flesh chased through his dreams, leaving him restless and out of sorts when he woke in the morning.

His reprieve lasted three days, just long enough for the vivid reds and purples of his bruises to fade. Ren stomped into a briefing late that third afternoon.  He didn't speak, but he didn't have to. His presence alone was enough to disrupt the meeting, especially when they reached report on that quarter's repairs budget.

Mitaka powered through his report, swallowing after every sentence, as if he expected he'd not to be able to at any moment. The other officers were worse, rambling and disjointed in their presentations.  Hux considered dismissing the meeting, but one look at the hulking form at the other end of the room changed his mind. He'd had enough of Ren's disruptions.

They made it to the end, ahead of schedule for once. Maybe there was some benefit to Ren's presence. The officers practically fell over themselves scrambling to get out of the room when Hux dismissed them. They shrank back against the far side of the door frame as they exited, each trying not to flinch and failing when Ren's breath hissed through his helmet as they passed. Once the last of them had made their escape, Hux acknowledged Ren's presence.

"To what do we owe the pleasure, Ren?"

Ignoring the question, Ren crossed the room, coming to a halt only a few paces from Hux's chair.

“You had an eventful trip, General.”

Hux glared at Ren. “How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of my head, Ren?”

“How many times do I have to tell you I don’t have to bother? It's like you're screaming the details in my ear right now. I felt it the instant my shuttle landed.”

"I spent hours being cross-examined for a murder I didn’t commit. What makes you think I want to talk about it again with you?”

Ren’s presence disturbed him, even more than usual. The way he stood, the particular way he held himself, teased at him, reminding him of something he couldn’t put his finger on. Stabbing at his datapad, Hux thought as hard as he could about how nice it would be if Ren left. Left the room, left the Finalizer, left the star system. It didn’t work. When he looked up, Ren still loomed over him.

“Why are you still here?” He affected the most bored, disinterested tone in his arsenal, while trying to place what felt different about their interaction.

“It was the massage oil.”

“Excuse me?”

“Major Alta had bribed an attendant to lace the oil with a contact poison. He'd already dosed the attendant with the same poison, as he meant to leave no witnesses. Slow acting, so it would have taken a day or two to affect you. The attendant received a higher dose and would have died within hours.”

“If his head hadn't been crushed, you mean.”

Ren ignored Hux’s interruption.

“Alta has been planning this for months, ever since your promotion, when you took command of the  _ Finalizer _ . He thought with you out of the way he would be installed in your place. Fool.”

“How do you know all this?” Hux asked, even as he dreaded the answer, coming to realize now what his subconscious had been trying to tell him. When Ren raised his hands, releasing the latches of his helmet with a hiss of air, and lifted it, exposing a face he'd committed to memory three days ago, he reacted without thinking, leading with his fist as he surged out of his chair. The crunch of cartilage echoed through the conference room and Ren dropped his helmet, hands flying to his nose.

“Fuck, Hux.” Staggering backwards, he hit the edge of one of the chairs and fell into it.

Not giving him time to recover, Hux grabbed Ren's hair, forcing his head back. He hadn't lost his touch, he saw, hitting Ren hard enough to bloody him, but not hard enough cause serious damage. Even bloodied and gasping his face still tugged at something inside Hux, and he remembered all too well how that hair had felt between his ungloved fingers. Shoving the inconvenient flashback down with all his concentration, he scowled at Ren.

“That’s how you always look at me, you know.” Ren forced the words out, voice strained. “An inconvenience, an annoyance.”

“And this was your revenge?” Tightening his hold, he gave Ren’s head a shake before releasing him, stepping back before he gave in to the urge to wipe the blood from his lips. He owed his co-commander no such tender gestures.

“No! I only meant to retrieve the poisoned oil. Then I'd slip away, and no one would be the wiser.”

"But somewhere along the line you changed your mind and decided to take advantage of me."

“You don't understand."

"Educate me, then, Ren."

"That was the first time you’d looked at me that didn’t make me feel like something foul you needed to scrape off your boot. You thought I was beautiful. I could sense how much you wanted me, even before I touched you. I let it go too far, I know, but I can’t be sorry about it.”

"And now you think I'm going to fall into your arms again, forgetting how you deceived me, asking for a repeat performance? Or were you planning on drugging and mind controlling me again?"

"No, I didn’t ... I mean, I hoped ...."

Over the last three years they'd had many a verbal battle, as Hux had found Ren more than ready with a sharp retort and razor wit, but today words seemed to have deserted him. Well, Hux had plenty to make up for his lack.

"Did it even occur to you that you could have apprehended him earlier? That this whole mess could have been avoided?"

"I didn't know. I had a vision of you the night before you left, poisoned and dying."

"And instead of warning me, you decided to what? Stalk me?"

"I knew you wouldn't believe me. You've made your opinion of the Force clear enough."  Ren's grimace of pain spoiled his attempt to sneer, or was it something else? It seemed to lack any of his usual vehemence.

Hux had to look away, his heartbeat stuttering at the entreaty in Ren's eyes. Wanting to see another expression, any expression but the one Ren now wore, he growled. "I hope you aren't expecting a thank you."

"For saving your life?  Of course not."

Instead of anger, he heard resignation in Ren's voice, and something else. That couldn't be sadness, not from Ren, and it most certainly wasn't evoking a similar emotion in him, either. And why did he have to restrain himself again from wiping away the trickle of blood that gathered in the dimple above Ren's lip? Damn the man.  

Determined to ignore the fluttering of emotion that continued to threaten, he blurted out the first words that sprang to mind.

"If you hadn't proceeded with your charade, I could have avoided giving your detailed description to Internal Affairs. Your likeness will trigger a security alert now if you ever appear in public without your helmet."

"There is no record. I took care of that."

"Do I want to know how you did that?"

"Memories replaced, minds influenced, files changed. Major Alta's journal entries now indicate that he was hoping to influence his attendant into providing blackmail materials on fellow officers. The attendant refused and in the ensuing struggle both were killed. My presence and involvement no longer exists according to everyone involved, and yours has similarly been erased."

"You've had a busy two days, then."  

Ren shrugged, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

"Considering how you have both saved my life and removed a possible stain on my reputation, I will thank you."

Striving to look noncommittal, Ren ducked his head, but not before Hux saw the flush that colored his cheeks, or how the smile spread across his face.

"That doesn't mean I've forgiven you for what happened in between those two things."

"I'm not sorry for it."

The words were soft enough that Hux could pretend not to have heard them. That way, he could pretend they didn’t invoke a similar response in him.

"If you do ever have any other of these ... visions, you will share them with me."

"Yes,  _ sir _ ." Ren stressed the last word and Hux willed himself not to stir at the memories it evoked.

_ I want you to make me yours. _

_ I can do that. _

Without another word, he turned and left. He was not running away from Ren, he assured himself. The conversation had simply come to its logical end.

Shortly afterwards, he received a notification that Ren’s shuttle had departed. No mission report filed, of course. He told himself he was relieved at his co-commander’s sudden absence. No more awkward confrontations loomed in his immediate future, and hopefully by the time Ren returned there’d be enough space between them and this incident that they could move past it.

A week passed, and then another. They received no communications, and Hux’s channel to the Supreme Leader remained silent as well. He never contacted Snoke himself, only received summons from their mysterious leader, but for the first time he considered doing so. He wasn’t worried, not at all. But he should be kept informed of his co-commander’s whereabouts. When he received notification of Ren’s return halfway through the third week, he sighed in relief, then scowled through the rest of his shift as the hours passed and he received no updates about where Ren had been. The nerve of that man!

He sent Ren an invite to the next day’s briefing, out of spite, knowing Ren would ignore it, and then fumed his way through the meeting when Ren didn’t make an appearance. Catching himself in the process of composing a scathing message to Ren about his absence, he shook his head. What was he doing?

Even as he asked himself this question, his fingers tapped out commands on his pad, deleting the message without sending it, but also activating the tracker in Ren’s belt. He watched its progress throughout the ship for the next two hours. Ren seemed to be wandering at random, never staying in one place for more than a few minutes, practically wearing grooves in Hux’s floors.

He left the briefing room, eyes glued to his datapad as he followed Ren’s movements. He’d settle this. Ren couldn’t keep avoiding him, dammit. They had a ship to run.

When he finally cornered him, Ren had taken up station in front of a viewport in a small meeting room below the command bridge. Helmetless, he stood with his back to the door, hands clenched at his sides. As Hux approached he turned, face impassive. Crossing the space between them in precise steps, bootheels echoing through the chamber, he met Ren’s gaze.

Taking a breath, he prepared to launch into the speech he’d prepared on his walk but before he could utter a word Ren spun him, backing him up against the viewport. Pinned against the transparisteel, he froze as Ren’s hands cupped his face. He knew he should protest as Ren leaned in, hesitant, eyes locked on his. At the last moment he closed his eyes, shuddering at the touch of Ren’s lips on his. When his hands began to rise of their own accord, he forced his arms back against the port behind him, salvaging at least part of his dignity.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” Ren breathed into his mouth.

“I don’t want this.” Every part of him proclaimed this as a lie, and he knew Ren could tell, but Ren stepped back anyways.

“I can wait.  _ Sir _ .” Calling his helmet to him with a gesture, Kylo left him standing there, heart in his throat, blood pounding in his ears.

When his breathing slowed and his heart settled, Hux began to make plans. He needed to remove himself from Ren’s presence and give him time to settle himself.  An inspection of Starkiller base wasn’t needed but it would serve. He put in a call for his shuttle to leave that evening.

Coward. The word echoed through his skull as he made his way to the landing bay. He’d felt scorn earlier at Ren’s refusal to face him, and he turned it on himself now, and yet he didn’t stop. Didn’t turn around and walk away from the shuttle, didn’t countermand the order to lift off, didn’t order the pilot to return to the Finalizer once they’d cleared the ship. The shuttle made the jump to lightspeed and he pretended to scroll through messages on his datapad, forced to acknowledge that he was fleeing the field instead of confronting the situation. Two and a half weeks hadn’t been long enough. How much more time would it take?

_ Careful. If you keep saying things like that I might fall in love with you. _

He managed to stretch his inspection for three full weeks, visiting every department, reviewing each budget down to line items, questioning and second-guessing decisions, but his staff was nothing if not efficient and eventually he ran out of options.

Perhaps he’d be lucky enough to pass Ren in transit, returning as the other headed off to parts unknown again, following some wild lead or esoteric quest at the Supreme Leader’s command.  

“Luck be damned,” he caught himself muttering as they cleared their approach. Ren’s shuttle sat in its berth. Well, it was a big ship. Huge. Largest in its class. He’d put extra effort into keeping as much of it between them as possible.

His resolution lasted until that evening, when his shift ended. His and Ren's quarters mirrored each other on opposite sides of the command deck, affording each of them the luxury of an expanse of viewports as well as the separation of the entire deck between them. Tonight, when the lift deposited him on his floor, he found his feet taking him to the left instead of the right, leading him to the wrong side of the ship.

His steps slowed as he went, but his course didn’t change. As he strode down the corridor leading to Ren's suite he shortened his pace, stopping with the door to Ren’s quarters still several meters away. This was madness. He'd lost his mind. He needed to turn and walk away. Before he could make himself move, the door opened. No shadow broke the light that spilled out into the corridor. He could still go, pretend this had never happened. Instead, he took one step forward, and then another. He'd blame Ren's dammed Force powers if he could, but he couldn't delude himself into believing he moved under anyone's will but his own.  

Ren stood, framed by starlight again, this time facing Hux. Clad in a simple white shirt and black pants, mirroring the clothes he’d worn the first time Hux had seen his face, he remained silent, face hopeful but guarded.

He counted each pace as he crossed the room. At ten Hux stood before him, close enough to touch. Ren’s hands clenched as he approached, arms rigid, and Hux could see him tremble with the effort of remaining still. It was as if he knew any movement would send Hux fleeing. Of course he knew, as he always knew when Hux was disturbed, as he’d known where to touch him and when to stop. And that could all be his. He only had to be brave enough to take this last final step.

Not able to meet Ren’s eyes, he focused on his own hands as he reached out, stopping just short of Ren’s chest. The heat of Ren’s body warmed his palms even through his gloves.

“Wex? Really?” The similarity to his own name struck him for the first time.

Ren shrugged, the sheepish grin that Hux remembered causing his heart to lurch in his chest.

“Normally I think faster on my feet.”

He cast about for something else to say and came up with nothing. The silence stretched on, and the few millimeters that separated them seemed to grow with every second.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he admitted at last. “I don’t know if I’m capable of letting go. Of trusting another person this much.”

Ren’s hand covered his, pressing it to his chest over his heart. “Can you try?”

A warmth spread through him, at the touch, at the words, and he felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

“I can do that.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I started this piece as a silly, fun break from editing [last year's KRB fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6970363), and then it started getting plot and feels and then it just stalled out, but here it is, finally finished after 14 months! Thanks to our mod, who did all this organizing all by themselves, and to my amazing artist [badbastion](http://badbastion.livejournal.com), who it seems I've dragged into Kylux with this fic. :D
> 
> Feel free to [come say "hi" on tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thewightknight)


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